


Push

by cynatnite



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-11
Updated: 2014-03-14
Packaged: 2018-01-15 08:43:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1298647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cynatnite/pseuds/cynatnite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint Barton, hardened war photographer, is assigned with Phil Coulson, a white collar investigative journalist, to a dangerous part of the world.  An uneasy alliance to get an explosive story turns into much more. Will the romance hold together with their lives on the line?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Meeting

**Author's Note:**

> This is a WIP. It will be finished.

It was rare that Clint Barton ever got a call directly from the boss herself. Usually his assignments were handed down through a phone call from one of the editors. This wasn’t actually Gwen Hemingway, editor-in-chief of Time Magazine. It was her assistant which was no different than her actually giving the order.

As Clint took the elevator up the New York City skyscraper, he checked himself over again. He wondered if he should have dug a tie out of his top drawer. Clint smoothed his buttoned up shirt and adjusted his jacket. The doors slid open and he went to the receptionist.

After getting directions, he headed to another office where a secretary nodded for him to sit. He did just that and spent the next few minutes trying to get comfortable. It wasn’t that he hated waiting. It was part of the job. That he was used to. It was being near the suits. Rarely did they ever pass on good news when you got their attention.

“You may go in now, Mr. Barton,” the secretary informed him.

He took a deep breath, walked through the double doors into a large corner office. The enormous windows showed off the city skyline. Standing near a large window was the shapely Gwen Hemingway. She wore an upscale power suit and had hold of her cell phone as she talked into it.

Sitting in a chair was another suit. This one looked at ease in the surroundings. Clint assumed he was either an accountant or a lawyer. He gave him a quick onceover. _No, he’s government all the way_ , Clint surmised.

Gwen set down her cellphone. “Mr. Barton, it’s good to finely meet you.”

“Thanks. I never get called up here.”

“Your work keeps you out in the field. It’s impressive. You’ve made the magazine look very good.”

“Thanks.”

“This is Mr. Phil Coulson,” Gwen said motioning to the government man. “He’s a freelance reporter who is now attached to Time for the next 18 months.”

Clint almost did a double take. Mr. Government Man was actually a reporter. How could he have misjudged so badly?

He held out his hand. “Your piece in the Wall Street Journal last year took down an international banking firm and all its execs for insider trading and tax evasion. Strong stuff.”

“Thank you.” Phil shook his hand. “I saw your cover piece from Darfur. It was powerful work.”

“Thanks.” Clint’s curiosity was getting the better of him. Being so off the mark about someone wasn’t something he was used to.

“Have a seat,” Gwen instructed. “I’ve asked both of you here for a special assignment. I think it calls for more than just a story.”

“Ms. Hemingway,” Clint said. “I work alone. The places I go, people get killed and Mr. Coulson will probably get me killed for looking like…well, look at him.” Clint motioned towards the suited man.

“Let me finish,” Gwen said. “Two days ago Reuters reported that an Afghan school teacher by the name of Amadi Sahar was killed by an American. Yesterday morning an Afghanistan government official reported that it was an accidental shooting over a dispute of an indeterminate nature by a farmer.”

“You think it’s more,” Phil said.

“Amadi Sahar went to Harvard with an old friend of mine. He said that Sahar had been actively building a school in…” Gwen looked at her notes. “Fayzabad.”

“I can see why you’re concerned.”

“What?” Clint asked.

“It borders China and Tajikistan next door to Russia,” Phil answered. “It’s a hot bed of drug trafficking and terrorist activity.”

“Even more reason for me to go in alone,” Clint insisted.

“There are eleven spoken languages in Fayzabad, Mr. Barton,” Phil told him. “I speak three of them fluently. How many do you speak?”

“I’ll get by.” Clint was getting aggravated with indulgent grin on Coulson’s face. Those humored blue eyes were a damn nuisance.

“Out of the question,” Gwen told him. “The official government story may be true, but if it’s not it could be something more. Either way, a reporter and a photographer can tell it together better whatever it is. You two are the best.”

“And we’ll give it,” Phil assured her.

“Mr. Barton?”

“You got it,” Clint said. He’d be a team player. It was a golden opportunity for him and his camera. “When do we leave?”

“Get the details from my secretary. I expect to be kept in the loop, gentlemen. This is personal for me.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Phil said.

After getting their itinerary from the secretary, they headed to the elevator and stepped inside. Clint leaned against the wall and Phil stood in the center with his hands clasped in front of him.

“Just don’t show up at the airport like a J. Edgar Hoover wannabe,” Clint told him.

“I’m sure my wardrobe will be more than satisfactory, Mr. Barton. This is not my first rodeo.”

“If you show up in a khaki jacket and aviators, I’ll leave your ass behind. Looking like a CIA spook will definitely get our heads chopped off.”

“You don’t have much faith in me.”

“I want to come out on the other side of this alive.”

“So do I,” Phil assured him.

The elevator stopped and both men walked out into the lobby. Clint moved in front of him. “Coulson, I’ve been in the thick of it and I know how quickly the shit can hit the fan. We’ll have to deal with the Taliban, American troops, tribes and drug traffickers. These people stone girls for fucking smiling. Get what I’m saying?”

“You said you read my work.”

“Yeah.”

“Obviously, not everything.”

Phil Coulson, white-collar reporter, left Clint standing in the middle of the lobby.


	2. In Country

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything began changing almost immediately starting from the first moment Clint sees Phil at the airport.

The following morning, Clint patiently waited near the gate with his luggage. He was holding off checking in until Phil Coulson arrived. He had his camera bag that he meticulously babied and one suitcase on wheels.

Ahead of him, he saw Coulson and as he watched him move closer, Clint straightened. This wasn’t the government man he took Phil Coulson for the day before. He wore dark blue jeans, a light denim shirt and an old leather bomber jacket. It seemed that the journalist could go from white collar to blue collar and raise Clint’s body temp a good ten degrees.

_Phil Coulson, you look fucking hot_ , Clint silently admired.

“Just in time,” Clint said.

“I always am.” Phil adjusted the leather bag on his shoulder. “Gwen gave us first class seats. I told her we needed the room for at least the first leg of our trip.”

“Let’s get checked in.”

Once on the plane, Clint took the window seat with Phil next to him. The plane began taxying away from the gate and he gazed out the window.

“I have a few things…”

“Shh,” Clint said. “I want to watch the takeoff.

“What?”

“I never miss it.”

Phil looked at him curiously then adjusted his seatbelt. It was a few minutes later when they were in the air and Clint appeared ready to see what Phil had.

After opening his laptop, Phil brought up the information he had about their assignment.

“Sahir has been working to put a school together in the Badakhshan province of Afghanistan for the better part of two years.”

“Taliban forbids girls from getting an education,” Clint added. He studied the photo. “This him?”

“Gwen emailed it to me last night. I have pictures of his family.” Phil showed him. “His wife is named Aina. They have a son and a daughter.”

“What else have you got?”

“I contacted a cleric from the area via cell phone. It’s difficult to get much information as it is, but he did tell me that Sahir has been able to work out an arrangement with the local Taliban militia that would allow him to teach both boys and girls.”

“Bribery, maybe,” Clint added. “They’re having a hell of a time fighting the Americans. Extortion is usually the next play when funds run short.”

“I have a guy at State who might be able to let me know what troops might be in the area.”

“Might?” Clint asked with a raised eyebrow.

Phil shrugged his shoulders. “You know how it is.”

Clint stretched out his legs and leaned back. “This first class was a fucking great idea, Coulson. Tell me something. You and Gwen getting comfortable after hours?”

Phil opened up another file in his laptop and kept his eyes off of Clint. He’d seen enough of the long legs already. “We’ve known each other for 15 years back when she was an assistant editor at USA Today.”

“She’s doing you a lot of favors, man.” Clint motioned for the stewardess. “Can I get a beer?”

“Domestic?”

“Pilsner if you’ve got it.”

She smiled and left. Clint glanced over. “What are you reading?”

“An Afghan newspaper. It keeps me on my toes plus it gives us an idea on the mood of the people.”

“You sure do over-prepare.” Clint took the beer and enjoyed the cool liquid as it trailed down his throat.

“You think I over-prepare.”

“You ever heard the old saying that sometimes less is more. You’ll draw more attention our way by preparing too much.”

“Maybe not,” Phil muttered. “Look at this.”

Clint straightened and leaned over. On the laptop was what a photo of an older Muslim cleric. “Do I want to ask?”

“It’s my contact. He told the local press that Sahir was a drug trafficker.”

“Why didn’t he tell you this before?”

“I don’t know. Fear, maybe.” Phil looked at Clint. “Bribery.”

“Fuck. Just what we need. A contact that would probably sell us out.”

~*~

Sixteen hours later they arrived in Kabul. Exhausted from the grueling journey, they checked into a hotel in a shared room with two beds. The city was well enough endowed with acceptable accommodations for them to be comfortable. The following day they were scheduled to make the 12 hour drive to Fayzabad for the final leg of their journey.

Phil sat at the small table to make some notes and he glanced at Clint who was opening up his camera bag. He was transfixed by how the photographer lifted the camera from its assigned spot. Clint would move it about, pushing every button, checking every movable part and wiping away perceived specks of dirt. He gave the same care and treatment with every piece of his equipment after an equally intense examination.

“The driver we hired knows a place we can stay when we get there tomorrow night.” Phil had to clear his throat.

“Sounds good.” Clint stripped off his t-shirt and tossed it on top of his bag. He got his iPad, stretched out on the bed and started playing Candy Crush.

Phil was sure his throat was parching just by watching a half-naked Clint playing that iPad like it was… _I have got to finish this_ , Phil silently swore. He forced himself to pay attention to his work.

An hour later he finally finished without having to look over at Clint once. Phil put his laptop away.

“It’s getting late. How about a bite to eat?”

“A drink afterwards sounds good,” Clint agreed. “We probably won’t get another chance after this.”

The meal was had in a quiet subdued restaurant. It made sense to keep their presence low key. The region remained dangerous for Americans and fortunately the city was diverse enough for them to blend in with the crowd.

Clint took Phil to a small bar frequented by Americans that was only a few blocks from their hotel. They got their drinks and took a booth on the far side of the bar.

“You never did tell me about you and Gwen Hemingway,” Clint said.

“Not much to tell.” Phil sipped his drink and decided there wasn’t enough alcohol in it. “We did see each other in the beginning, but we were on separate career paths at the time.”

“I don’t get how a guy like you could be a journalist. You still could almost pass for a spook even now.”

“Not enough to get you killed?” Phil asked with a slight grin.

“You’ll do.” Clint nearly smiled himself. There was a hint of mischief in Coulson’s eyes that he liked.

“It’s a long story.”

Clint leaned forward. “After what you said to me the other day in New York, I checked you out. I read about Rwanda.”

Phil lowered his eyes and ran his finger along the glass. “I had just graduated college and I thought I could help feed people. I joined a relief organization and we were sent to one of the local villages. They had an outbreak of malaria.”

“What happened?”

“All hell broke loose,” Phil said simply. “There’s been a history of tension between the Hutu and Tutsi forever it seemed like. The Hutu found their excuse when the Burundian president’s plane was shot down. It was as if the rules of humanity had been lifted away and baser animalistic instincts were the norm.” He took a large drink before continuing. “When we got word a militia was coming, we got a group of women and children together and ran into the jungle to hide. There was so many we had to leave behind.” The horrific images began to form in Coulson’s mind and he could feel the perspiration forming on his forehead. “I had to see what was happening and I found a spot overlooking the village. They had machetes and took down anyone who crossed their paths. It didn’t matter. There was a woman who was hacked to pieces. Her screaming child was running away and then…”

When he lowered his head, Clint reached out. “Hey, are you with me?”

“I’m sorry.” Phil looked him in the eyes. “I haven’t talked about this in a long time. We made it out of the jungle and when I got back to the states I couldn’t imagine how people were living as if I had seen nothing. I wanted their deaths to count for something and the best way was to tell the world what I witnessed.”

“Your op-ed in the New York Times,” Clint said. “It was incredible.”

“They hired me and the rest is history.”

“Did you ever go back to Rwanda?”

“The opportunity hasn’t arisen.” Phil was desperate for a change of subject. “What about you? How did you get to be a war photographer?”

“I’m just a picture guy.”

“No, you’re more than that. I saw your work. Your pictures tell an incredible story. The Darfur photos weren’t just about showing the horror. It was also about survival and determination.”

“The world only changes if you make them see what they don’t want to see,” Clint told him.

“Why did you want to be a photographer?”

“Nick Ut,” Clint answered. “He took a picture in 1972 of a naked girl running down the road who had been burned by napalm during the Vietnam War. It didn’t stop the war, but it sure as hell changed enough opinions about it that it only took a few years after that.”

“It won a Pulitzer,” Phil remembered.

“A camera has always been a part of me and I wanted to do the most good with it.”

“You have a great eye,” Phil told him. “You could probably make ten times what you do now shooting celebrities or models.”

“What fun would that be?” Clint responded with a wry grin.

“Couldn’t have said it better myself.”

They tapped their glasses together and toasted their good fortune.

~*~

It was much later when they returned to the hotel. Each went about their own business and settled in for the night in their separate beds. Clint laid awake for nearly an hour thinking over the conversation. There was much more to the simple looking every day man that was Phil Coulson. He suddenly found himself wanting to know everything about him. That was a dangerous thing for him. He knew it.

He finally slept and how much time passed, he’d never know, but something woke him. He opened his eyes, raised his head and looked over at Phil’s sleeping form. Clint sat up when Phil’s body jerked.

“We have to go back,” Phil breathed.

The grip of a nightmare had its claws in Phil. Clint scooted to the edge of the bed unsure of what to do. A sudden yell from Phil sprung Clint into action. He went to him and was just about to touch his shoulder.

“Please, don’t kill them!”

It came out almost like a cry and Clint’s gut felt like it had gotten punched at the pain in his voice. He had to wake him up.

“Coulson,” Clint whispered. He did then touch Phil’s arm. “Wake up, man.”

“No!” Phil jerked.

Then Clint did shake him. “Phil, wake up!”

Phil’s eyes flew open and he jerked upright. He was covered in sweat. The proof was on his hand after he had touched his forehead.

“You were having a nightmare. Are you okay?”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“Was it Rwanda?”

Phil nodded. He swung his legs around and lowered his head in his hands. The horrific images hadn’t left him.

“I should be the one apologizing. I dragged all that shit up.”

“It’s not your fault, Clint. I get them every couple of weeks.” Phil got up, turned on the lamp and got a glass of water from the bathroom. “Go back to sleep. I’ll be up for the rest of the night. I usually can’t sleep after one of these.”

“You’ve got to get some rest, Coulson.” Clint stood up and put his hands on his hips. “We’ve got a hard week ahead of us and you need to be on your toes. We don’t know what we’re facing once we get to Northern Afghanistan.”

“Do me a favor?”

“What?”

“Call me Phil. Coulson sounds so military.”

“I did a stint. It’s a habit. I may slip back into Coulson once in a while. Come over here.”

“Why?”

“You’re getting some rest.”

Phil finished off the water and walked back to the beds. “What?”

Clint got into Phil’s bed and scooted over. “You’re going to lay here next to me.”

“You’re kidding, right?”

“Serious as a heart attack. For some reason, it helps people relax when they feel like someone is watching over them.”

“Is that what you’re going to do?”

“For a few hours and when I know you’re asleep, I will be, too. You need this more than me. That thing took a hell of a lot out of you.”

“I don’t have anything to lose.”

Clint gave him a reassuring smile. “That’s right.”

Phil got in the bed and adjusted his pillow closer to Clint. He settled it next to Clint’s side and slowly closed his eyes. He could feel Clint’s even breathing next to him and found it far more comforting than he would have ever imagined.

Clint leaned back and gazed down at the man next to him. This was not in the plan. He was here for a story and not getting someone in his bed or being in someone else’s bed. That was for movies and bad romance novels. But Phil Coulson next to him felt right.

Resting his head against the headboard, Clint closed his eyes. No, he couldn’t want this. His life made it impossible to expect anything more. He had long ago decided that one night stands were the only acceptable forms of affection in the line of work he had dedicated his life to.

_Damn you, Phil Coulson_ , Clint thought.

He slid down a little careful not to wake the sleeping man next to him. Clint finally found sleep with his arm across Phil’s body.


	3. Getting There

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On the verge of starting their investigation, the relationship between Phil and Clint changes.

When Clint’s eyes opened the following morning, the early morning glow of the sun was filtering through the half-closed curtains. He soon realized that Phil’s head was next to his and that his body was just as close. Clint’s right arm was nestled snugly under Phil’s. His leg was lying on Phil’s leg under the covers. He couldn’t remember ever sleeping so intimately close with another person.

Clint gently pulled away careful not to wake Phil. He eased out of bed and gazed at the sleeping man. The peaceful look on his face was endearing and Clint nearly smiled. It was something he could get used to seeing.

Shaking his head at the insane fantasy, Clint walked around the bed and retrieved his cellphone to check the time. They still had two hours before meeting their driver. Rather than wake Coulson, Clint headed to the bathroom and took a brisk shower. He sure as hell needed it.

When Clint finished, he dried off and wrapped a towel around his waist. He stepped out of the bathroom and found Phil sitting on the edge of the bed.

“Morning,” Clint said. He moved to the far side of his bed and got his bag. “Shower’s all yours.”

Phil stood. “About last night…”

“I’m sorry,” Clint interrupted. “I didn’t mean to crowd you.”

“No, it’s okay. You were right,” Phil told him. “I wanted to say thank you. I can’t remember the last time I slept so well.”

“Really?”

Phil’s smile was earnest. “I felt safe.”

Clint was speechless. He lowered his gaze and took out a pair of well-worn black jeans. “I’m glad.” He couldn’t admit to how it had felt watching Phil Coulson sleep.

Feeling even more awkward, Phil grabbed his shaving gear and headed to the shower.

Clint sat on the bed. “Fuck me,” he muttered. He was acting as if he’d just lost his virginity on prom night.

~*~

They met their driver after getting a quick breakfast and proceeded down the long stretch of highway that stretched across Afghanistan. Prior to arrival of the Americans, there was barely a navigable road. It was only fit for horses or camels. It had been completely rebuilt and rather than the arduous journey prior to the war, it now only took 12 hours. It was still a horrendous trek, but with the increased traffic it was also much safer.

They stopped several times along the way. Twice for food, the driver’s prayer times and filling up the old jeep with gas that was tied to the back with bungee cords.

Clint appreciated Phil’s attempts to engage the driver, but being so mistrustful of everyone in a war torn country, the man wouldn’t have none of it. His answers were abrupt.

“He thinks the Taliban is going to kidnap us and execute him,” Phil told Clint.

“It’s happened often enough here. I was embedded with a small infantry unit a few years ago. People like him are caught in the middle with no options.”

“He knows a place where we can stay when we get there. He said the old man doesn’t say much, but for American money he’ll make sure we’re well fed and have access to a well.”

“That’s reassuring,” Clint said with a grin. “We’ll take turns hauling water.”

“Kabul might as well be New York City compared to where we’re going.” Phil opened his water and took a drink. “You were in the military?”

“When I turned 19 I did four years…infantry. God, it sucked.”

“Not a good fit?”

“Fuck no. I spent a week in the brig for decking my squad leader. He damn near got us all killed during a live fire exercise. Too many damn rules if you ask me. Don’t get me wrong. I respect the hell out of anyone who’s earned the right to wear the uniform. It’s just not for me.”

Clint leaned forward and opened up his bag. “I don’t want to forget this.”

“What?” Phil was handed an International Red Cross ID badge to wear around his neck. It had his passport photo and his name on the front. “What is this?”

“If we run into the Taliban, terrorists or anyone with a stake in the war, we’re the press. They’ll want us to get their message out and we have to act more than fucking happy to do it.”

“And these?” Phil asked holding up the badge.

“If we meet up with drug traffickers or tribal leaders we’re relief workers from the Red Cross. They’ll know that we’re not here to upend their culture or religion. That’s how they see the press.”

“How’d you get my passport photo?”

“I know a guy,” was all Clint would say. “If we have to promise food or medical supplies I’ve got a contact in the Red Cross who can expedite a request.”

“Is this how you’ve managed to get around the Middle East and Africa all this time?”

“More or less,” Clint admitted. He set his badge around his neck and put it inside his shirt. “It’s gotten me out of a hell of a lot of close calls. You’ve just got to learn when to know which one to use ahead of time.”

Phil put on the badge and followed Clint’s lead. He reached into his bag and took out a baseball cap.

Clint grinned a little. “Better than aviators.”

“I was going to bring them to spite you,” Phil said with a smile.

“What changed your mind?”

“I looked in the mirror. You were right. I couldn’t look more CIA with this face.”

Clint did laugh out loud and Phil enjoyed the sound of it.

~*~

It was well past dark by the time they arrived at their destination. Northern Afghani families were grouped in compounds and their accommodations were exactly that. An elderly man handed Phil a kerosene lantern and took another for himself. He guided them to a back room behind one of the stone buildings.

He spoke to them and Clint looked at Phil.

“This is where we’re staying.” Phil moved passed him and spoke to the old man who responded. “He’s going to show me the well.”

Clint took the lantern from Phil and set it in the corner after they had left. He gazed around the room and his eyes landed on the rolled up mattress in the corner with a pile of blankets on top. He scanned the room and realized that was the only bed. It would sit on the hard cement that was covered in a layer of dirt.

“Shit,” he muttered. “Another fucking bad romance novel.”

Clint spent half an hour arranging the small room into something livable and checking his camera equipment. It had been a rough journey and he needed to make sure his camera and lenses were in perfect working order.

Finally, Phil returned with a bucket of water and a plate of food. “We missed dinner. The old man’s wife fixed us a plate.”

Clint took the food to the bed and sat next to the tray. “I could eat a fucking tiger.”

Phil put the bucket in the corner near a small table with a bowl. “Do you want some water? It looks clear.”

“Yeah,” Clint answered. He grabbed some dried fruit and a piece of bread.

Phil brought them each a cup and sat across from him. He picked up a piece of bread and tore off a corner. “I got a hold of Gwen.”

“Out here?”

“It’s a passable signal. If we get done before the end of the week, we can submit everything and she’ll have it published in no time. She’s hoping the wire services will pick it up.”

“We don’t even know if there is a story. It could’ve been a fight over a cow or someone who didn’t want him to open a school.” After a moment, Clint said, “If it was about a school it would make a decent human interest, but it won’t get a lot of traction back home.”

“I said as much, but she’s convinced there’s more to it. Sahir was considered a peacemaker in these parts.”

Clint looked up. “You spoke to the old man.”

“Don’t think about taking his picture,” Phil warned him. “He’s got a family to protect.”

“I doubt I’ll get many faces in my lens,” Clint grumbled. It was always more difficult to get the message out when no one was willing to stand up. “I’m starting to question if me being here is even a good idea.”

“Are you thinking about quitting?”

“Hell no.” Clint took more of the food and stuck a piece in his mouth. “I finish every job. Besides, there’s a hell of a lot to tell out here. There always is in places like these. I just hope we can find something that makes a difference for these people.”

Phil smiled in pleasure as he watched Clint tear a piece of bread apart. He admired his passion. “You really want to help people.”

Clint hoped he wasn’t blushing. It wouldn’t do for a former infantryman. “So do you.”

~*~

Clint lay on his back looking up at the large crack in the ceiling wondering about the safety of their hovel. The rich luminescence of the moon coming through the open window lit the room just enough to see. He moved his eyes right to Coulson’s back then he shifted his sight back up to the jagged line above him.

“Coulson?”

“Hmm.”

“Are you awake?”

“I’m awake.”

Clint knew he was smiling. He liked that. “Where did you grow up?”

Phil rolled to his opposite side to look at Clint. “Why do you want to know?”

“Can’t sleep.”

“Me either. I was raised in Nantucket.”

“Don’t rich people live there?”

“Some are mildly well off.”

“What was it like growing up there?”

“During the summers we would drive to Cape Cod and take the sailboat out on the water. After we got back, we’d go to the beach, build a fire and cook whatever we could find or had on hand.”

“Did you dig for clams?”

“Sometimes. My mother and sister loved digging for clams. Dad and I swore we’d beat them out by catching a fish.”

“Did you?”

Phil smiled at the memory. “By the time we had our poles Dad would rather walk to a restaurant on the dock and get a large seafood platter to go. We’d carry it back, it’d be cold and Mom and Julie would have finished off the clams.”

“Sounds like fun.”

“It was.”

“Do you still do that when you go home?”

“Julie married a lawyer and lives in Seattle. Mom has her bridge club and church group.”

“Your dad?”

“He died 12 years ago. Cancer.”

“I’m sorry.”

“We had some great times growing up,” Phil said. “I had always thought if I ever had a family, I’d want that for my kids.”

Clint frowned a little. “Sounds great.”

“What about you?”

“Me?”

“Where did you grow up?”

“Waverly, Iowa, a town of 10,000 with nothing of importance. The best you can hope for is a Walmart and if you’re lucky, a mall.”

“You didn’t like it,” Phil observed.

“I didn’t like it,” Clint repeated.

“What about your family?”

“I haven’t seen my brother since I was a kid. He took off.”

“And your parents?”

“Shit, this was not how I pictured this conversation going.”

“Do you want to stop?” Phil asked.

“No, it’s okay.” Clint shifted to his side so he could look at Clint. He loved how the moonlit glow highlighted Phil’s face. “My parents were killed in a car crash when I was 10. It was the worst and best day in my life.”

“What do you mean?”

“It was the worst because I lost my mom. It was the best because the old man was dead.”

“God, Clint. Why would you say that?”

“He was an alcoholic cheapskate who didn’t want to spend the money on a punching bag so he used his family instead.”

“Jesus,” Phil whispered.

“My brother was 13 and less than two weeks after they stuck us in a foster home he ran away. It was a shithole. I stayed because I thought being good would pay off in the long run.”

“Did it?”

“Fuck if I know.” Clint’s eyes locked with Phil’s. “I wouldn’t be where I am had I made any other decision.”

“Either way, I’m glad you’re here.” Phil instinctively reached over and touched his knuckle gently along Clint’s cheekbone.

Nothing was more natural than Clint leaning over and kissing Phil. There was no hesitation on his part and no rejection on Phil’s. He breathed a sigh of relief as he moved his body closer to Phil’s.

Phil’s hand was on Clint’s face as the kiss deepened and he raised his head to be closer, more intimate. He was eager for more of Clint’s lips on his and allowed the searing tongue to explore the inside of his mouth.

Clint broke the kiss and allowed a heated breath to escape as he worked his mouth along Phil’s jawline. His hands went for the shirt and worked it off of his new lover’s body. He helped Phil remove his own shorts.

When they were skin to skin, Clint maneuvered his thigh between Phil’s legs and settled into his hips. He rocked back and forth, then breathed into his ear, “I’ve wanted you from the beginning.”

“The airplane ride,” Phil breathed back. “Your damn long legs wrapped around my waist.”

“Fuck!” Clint was hard a rock. “Your blue eyes have been fucking me since day one.”

Phil rolled Clint to his back and took control of the action. He leaned down, ran his hands over Clint’s chest relishing the smooth skin under the palms of his hands. He dragged them to Clint’s arms then to his wrists and then put above his head. He arched his hips into Clint’s feeling their hard cocks heat up with the friction of the act.

“I’m going to come all over you,” Clint swore. “Goddamn it!”

“Shh,” Phil whispered. “Let’s not get killed before we’re done here.”

“What a fucking way to go,” Clint whispered.

Phil smiled before shifting his body so that he could move Clint’s legs farther apart with his thighs. “I didn’t bring anything.”

“I don’t care,” Clint lustfully replied. “Just fuck me now, please.”

Phil rose up a little and as he moistened his own cock, he stroked Clint’s and enjoyed the rapturous look on his face. Nothing was more beautiful than watching the thousands of expressions on a lustful Clint Barton’s face on the verge of orgasm.

Clint’s body wouldn’t still in anticipation of what was to come. Phil had never seen anyone come so undone by him and his cock was ready to explode at the thought of what he was doing to the willing man beneath him. He lifted Clint up by the ass and pulled him closer.

When Clint felt Phil hesitate, he lifted himself up. “Please, Phil. I need you inside me.”

Phil did so and nothing was more exciting than the way Clint’s body naturally opened up to him. It was as if they fit together like the pieces of a puzzle finding a home for the first time. Once he was seated fully inside of him, perspiration was beading across Phil’s forehead.

“God.” Phil was nearly holding his breath. “Don’t move, Clint.”

Clint stilled. “What’s wrong?”

“Shit, not a damn thing, lover. If you move, we both are going to blast off before we’re ready.”

“I know the names of all the United States Senators. Will it help if I list them?”

“What?” Phil was ready to bust out laughing.

“Alphabetically, if you’d like.”

“Clint.” Phil felt a stream of perspiration run down his cheek.

“What?”

“Shut the fuck up.”

“Then get busy.”

Not one to disobey an order, Phil began with a slow sensual rocking his hips. He watched his cock moving in and out of Clint, then looked at him. Nothing could have prepared him for the sight of seeing the sheer ecstasy on the man’s face.

“God, you’re fucking beautiful,” Phil breathed as he moved concert with Clint’s body.

“Please,” Clint begged.

“I got you,” Phil assured him. He shifted his body so he could move deeper into Clint.

The action of their lovemaking went up several heated degrees and Clint grabbed onto the blankets. Phil was pumping heatedly into him and their heavy breathing was slowly turning to soft groans.

“I’m close,” Phil whispered. “I want to watch you jack off while I fuck you.”

“Goddamn it.” Clint ground out.

Clint got a hold of his hard cock and began pumping on it as the pace of Phil’s thrusts increased. It took less than a minute of heavy fucking for Phil to explode. He nearly bit his tongue in half to keep a roar from exploding from him as he came. He eased out and nearly fell back on the bed.

Seeing that Clint still hadn’t finished, Phil batted his hands away and took hold of the heavy organ. He fed it greedily to his mouth and sucked on it as deeply until he felt the crown hit the back of his throat.

“Goddamn it, Phil!” Clint said between clenched teeth. The mouth on him was all it took and he was coming in heavy doses.

Phil sucked every bit of it down and when he finished, he fell back on the bed with a contented smile. He could feel Clint’s warm orgasm making its way deep inside of him.

“Jesus H. Christ,” Clint said. “I fucking think I saw god.”

Phil turned his head towards Clint and grinned. “I know I did.”

“Never knew I was a fucking cuddler before you came along,” Clint said. “Come up here and lay with me.”

Phil did and he didn’t hesitate to wrap his legs around Clint’s. He settled in close to him. “Any regrets?”

“Only that the night isn’t longer,” Clint answered. “We’ve got a long day tomorrow and we need the rest.”

“Completely agree.” Content, Phil allowed his eyes to close, but sleep was a long time in coming as he kept reliving the mind-blowing sex he had just experienced.

Clint on the other hand was looking ahead. This couldn’t last, or could it?


End file.
